


Wild Cat

by HarleySlytherinQuinn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Harry, Dark Harry Potter, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Mute Harry Potter, My First Fanfic, Powerful Harry, Powerful Harry Potter, Rescue Attempt, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 22:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12142035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarleySlytherinQuinn/pseuds/HarleySlytherinQuinn
Summary: When Hermione and Ron finally go to save Harry, after the war has ended and Voldemort has won, they unwittingly get caught themselves. The situation in which they meet Harry again, is not one they expect at all.





	Wild Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. The wonderful J.K. Rowling does, and her publishers. I claim only this story plot as mine! I am not making money out of this, I'm only writing for fun. 
> 
> This is my first time posting fanfiction! I hope y'all think it's okay! Please, read, review, kudos! Also, hopefully I've got enough tags and the right ones. I'm utter shit at writing summaries, so sorry for that.
> 
> Warnings for dub-con since Harry is under a spell. Also, I'm pretty sure it's underage so I tagged that just in case.

Ron and Hermione had failed. They had come to Riddle Manor to rescue Harry. And ended up getting caught themselves. Hermione felt like it was karma. After all, they had waited so long that Voldemort had already won the war, before attempting to rescue Harry. Hermione admitted to herself that maybe the Light side could've won if they had gone to save Harry earlier, but at that time, they had been convinced that Harry was already dead.

_What fools we are_ , Hermione couldn't help thinking as Ron and she were unceremoniously hauled along the polished marble hallway of the manor. Ron kept shouting, struggling futilely, but Hermione just let herself stumble along, choosing to instead try to think up unsuccessful plans to get them out of this hellhole. They should've realised that if Harry was indeed dead, Voldemort would've announced it joyously to the entire wizarding world. _What utter fools we are. Every single one of us._

Suddenly, the Death Eaters that were roughly handling them reached a set of double mahogany doors. They knocked, practically vibrating with excitement. Ron shut up, looking warily at the doors as if they would all of a sudden grow a pair of jaws and chomp him clean in half. Hermione wouldn't put it past them.

“Enter,” cut through a cold, clear voice. One of the Death Eaters (husband of Bellatrix Lestrange. Rudolph? Randofus? Rodolphus, that was right,) pushed open the doors and stalked inside impatiently.

He immediately bowed when he entered, as did the other Death Eater. The air was filled with nervous tension. There was a rather good reason for that, truth be told. The Dark Lord himself was seated behind a desk in front of them. His scarlet, scarlet eyes stared at Ron and Hermione.

“Well, well. What an _interesting_ development,” he purred. He seemed to be waiting for something, slim fingers tapping a maddening rhythm on his desk.

“Bow,” Ron’s Death Eater hissed. Ron obediently bent forward stiffly, clumsily, at the waist, his freckles standing out starkly against his pale skin, sickly with fear. Hermione herself refused to go down without a fight, and instead stood straight backed, defiantly, glaring confidently into the ruby eyes of the probable bane of Harry's existence.

“Oh, how _very_ stubborn. Harry would simply _love_ to break you in,” he murmured, standing smoothly, seemingly not at all angry at Hermione. She didn't catch any of that, however, apart from one word.

Harry.

_Harry?_

“Indeed. Harry is here. In fact, he and I were just about to meet up. I suppose I can take you to him. I'm sure he'd be simply delighted to see you,” Voldemort agreed silkily, yet his eyes told a different tale of malicious hunger. Oh. Right. Hermione had forgotten that the Dark Lord was an accomplished Legilimens and she had been projecting that thought rather loudly. She glanced at Ron to see him gaping, knowing that he, too, had realised the strangeness of the situation.

It did not make sense. Harry would never do _anything_ willingly to do with the Dark Lord. She was absolutely certain of that. So why, would Voldemort, Dark ruler of most of magical Europe, of all people, be taking them personally to see Harry? Unless… Harry was a prisoner and Voldemort was going to torment him by showing him his two best friends. Yes, that was probably it. There was no other possibly reason.

“Thank you, Antonin, Rodolphus. Your usefulness will be rewarded,” Voldemort said, bringing Hermione back to the present as Dolohov and Lestrange looked about to burst with pride at that remark, even though it was only said in passing, Voldemort already walking down to stand in front of the two children.

“Shall we?” He asked, opening the doors again with a simple wave of his hand, gliding forward, expecting Hermione and Ron to follow. They did. After all, there was no way they were going to miss the chance to see Harry and what had happened to him. Not when it was basically their fault in the first place.

“I should warn you, Harry does not like being interrupted during duels,” Lord Voldemort stated casually as he stopped outside a door.

“Duels?” Hermione repeated, wincing at the way her voice squeaked in panic. Judging by the flicker of amusement in Voldemort’s eyes, he had caught it as well. Ron reached out and took her hand, trying to lend her what little comfort he had to give. She smiled gratefully, albeit shakily, relaxing minutely before tensing up again when Voldemort opened a door they had halted at with a flourish and gestured them in.

Hermione barely had time to adjust to her surroundings (high ceiling, very spacious with a stage in the middle) when her eyes honed in on two people duelling in the middle of the arena-like room. She felt, rather than heard Ron take a gasp in at what was happening in front of them.

One person was a tall, lanky yet fluidly moving man with light brown hair. The other, the other was obviously Harry. He looked the same as when they left him, if not better. No, actually, he was better. His skin was glowing with health, his frame filled out slightly with lean muscles, his hair long and tied back.

But the thing that had her reeling in shock, was the way they _moved_. It was like they were dancing, every move impossibly flowing and smooth. They seemed to anticipate each other's moves before they did it, managing to weave around each other with a predatory intent, swiftly dodging spells and whistling knives. They both had their wands and a number of knifes on them, most likely for throwing by the way they held them.

Almost an exact minute after Voldemort, Hermione and Ron entered, the dance stopped so instantaneously it was like it was timed, when Harry shot a vibrant indigo spell at his opponent and it soared under the other’s outstretched arms, hitting him in the full on his chest, releasing a violent glow that pulsed and surrounded the man.

“I concede,” the brown haired man wheezed, sinking to the floor and waved his wand, making the sickly purple glow that had lingered fade away.

Harry didn't even send him a cursory glance before he was whirling around, three knives in quick succession leaving his nimble fingers, spinning towards them with deadly accuracy. The knives whistled through the air, and Hermione only had time to screw her eyes shut before at least one of the knives would surely hit her. But then, no searing pain came, only a dull _thud_ as one of the knives hit the door a millimetre away from her face, the others undoubtedly in the same positions with the other two people.

“He missed,” Hermione breathed in relief, opening her eyes as Harry prowled forward, yanking the knives one by one out of the door, deftly wiping them down on his robes before sticking them into his belt, his eyes always flicking between Ron and Hermione’s faces, never letting up for a second.

Voldemort's laugh surprised Hermione who turned to him. “Incorrect. Harry never misses. He just didn't want to maim or kill you until he has figured out why you are here.”

Ron looked at Harry in bewilderment. “But doesn't he remembers us? Harry! It's me, Ron!”

Hermione could already tell before Ron had finished talking that no, Harry did not remember them. There was no trace of recognition anywhere in those familiar, yet somehow foreign green eyes, only a calculating, speculative look. He slowly began to circle Hermione, studying her intensely while she just stood rigidly, barely able to process this. How could Harry not remember them?

“It took a lot to break him,” Voldemort said with a fond sigh. Hermione and Ron looked at him with, respectively, incredulous and furious expressions. “But once I _finally_ got through with him, he was _so_ much fun to play with! He won't recognise any of you anymore. His loyalty is only to me, and me alone. He would do anything for me,” he concluded smugly. A white, long finger hooked under Harry's chin and tilted his head up.

“Isn't that right,” here, Voldemort hissed something in parseltongue. Harry shivered and nodded, dropping his gaze to Hermione once more. Hermione suppressed her own shiver at his unwelcome staring.

“Why won't you talk?” Ron blurted out, his eyes following Harry's movements suspiciously. Harry didn't halt in his scrutiny nor did he answer. It was Voldemort who eventually replied.

“I stole his voice. He quite literally can not speak right now. Or ever. It was the last thing that caused him to snap. Let me show you how he reacts to me now,” he said with something akin to glee. Hermione wanted to protest, but she could see that the Dark Lord would do it anyway.

Voldemort’s thin lips lifted and he merely raised his wand in Harry's direction. Harry’s eyes immediately widened and he whimpered and fell to the ground on his knees, shaking even as he bowed. Hermione could only watch in horror, not even wanting to look at Ron to see his reaction. As far as she could tell, Voldemort had not even cast a spell, yet Harry was basically prostrating himself at his feet, shaking his head vehemently in frightened protest.

“Stop!” Hermione cried shrilly, her voice finally coming back to her. She covered her face with her hands and peeked through the fingers. Voldemort's smirk grew more pronounced, but he lowered his wand fractionally.

“Stand up, Harry,” Voldemort disarmingly purred, sounding all the world like a contented cat. Harry stood with trembling feet, but before he could straighten up fully, a spell flew out of the Dark Lord’s wand and Harry fell back to his knees with a gasp.

Ron surged forward. “You basta-” He began furiously, but Hermione laid an arm on Ron’s to hold him back. She frowned. Something was not quite right. Harry’s reaction to this spell was strange, his body shuddering and breath coming in short little pants. When he raised his head to stare at Voldemort, his eyes were dilated, the green barely visible, only there as a thin rim between the whites and his blown out pupils and-

Oh. Hermione knew what it was. There was only one spell that could produce this reaction. It was a- “Lust spell,” Voldemort confirmed, lips curved up in a grin. Harry stood back up slowly, unsteadily, eyes locked on Voldemort's.

Voldemort opened his arms. Harry hesitated, chewing on his lower lip even as his body strained to moved towards him. “Come, Harry,” Voldemort said and that was all it took before Harry stumbled into his embrace and pressed his lips passionately to the Dark Lord’s. Said Dark Lord gave a sound of triumph as Harry gave a shuddering sigh and tentatively rocked against him. Voldemort rubbed against him and Harry whimpered again, eyes rolling in bliss.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” Ron said, and it was true, Ron looked extremely nauseated. Hermione’s eyes eventually drifted away from Harry and Voldemort, not wanted to have to watch this intimate scene play out. Her eyes fixed on Harry's duelling opponent who was still stretched out on the floor, but was looking at Voldemort and Harry with something like hunger. He licked his lips and subtly snuck his hand under his robes. Hermione closed her eyes in disgust. It was obvious that this was a common occurrence, and Hermione felt something twist in her belly at that thought.

She was broken out of her angry musing when Harry gave a keening whine. Hermione snapped her eyes open in time to see Harry throw back his head and climax, his fingers twisted possessively in Voldemort's robes.

“Good boy,” Voldemort whispered, stroking Harry's hair. Harry's eyes fluttered close and he seemed to subconsciously lean into the touch, as if he were now the cat, starved for tough and attention. “I'll leave you to it,” Voldemort said softly to Harry, stepping back and brushing his robes down, not quite able to completely hide the gleam of satisfaction when Harry let out a small noise of despair when he stepped away. “Selwyn, come. I'm sure Harry here has some business to attend to. Do what you want with them.” He gestured dismissively to Ron and Hermione.

Harry turned and a disconcerting grin flittered across his features as he seemed to remember that Ron and Hermione were there, already uninterested in Selwyn standing up to follow the Dark Lord. As soon as Voldemort and Selwyn left the room, the door closing with a quiet click, Harry started to prowl forward, as elegant and dangerous as a wild cat hunting their prey. His eyes fastened on Hermione first, and then Ron, languidly roaming his eyes unashamedly over their bodies, simultaneously casting a (wordless _and_ wandless) cleaning charm on himself. This was not Harry, Hermione now knew. Harry was long gone by now.

Hermione knew at once that she was as good as dead.

**Author's Note:**

> So? How was it? Feedback is appreciated! What I did wrong, what I did right, please, feel free to say! 
> 
> Also, just a question for you long time fanfic authors/readers. How many words are deemed acceptable for a chapter?


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